At the bottom of the paper, Diane has signed her name, all careful loops and perfect slants.
I read it twice, then a third time, and then I peer up at Diane as I hand it back to her.
‘I’m going to go to Betty’s house tonight to give her this letter and beg her to give it to her father and convince him of the truth,’ says Diane. ‘I’m going to ask to borrow her car. I don’t have a license yet, but I know how to drive. Well, I’m going to ask to take her car, I guess. If she’ll let me. And I’m going to drive somewhere and hide until all this blows over and we know that Johnny is free.’
I don’t have any response. Diane’s plan sounds wild. Impossible. And from the determined look in her eyes, I know she is deadly serious.
‘Evie, will you come with me tonight to take this letter to Betty? If she hears from you, she’ll know for sure that this’ – she holds up the letter, waves it in the air – ‘is all true.’
‘Diane, there has to be another way,’ I say even as I scramble to figure out what it is. ‘Where on earth will you go?’
‘I have Christmas and birthday money saved. Maybe I’ll drive to Mexico.’
‘Mexico!’ I shout, and then clamp my hand over my mouth, even though there isn’t anyone else at the park.
‘Evie, I don’t know everything yet, but I do know I …’ Her voice gives out. ‘I do know that I can’t sit here, breathing in the fresh air, talking to you, and the entire time knowing Johnny is in prison for something I did. I can’t stand it anymore!’ She squeezes her eyes shut tight, manages one tortured sob. ‘After everything – everything – I have been through … please, Evie. Please say you’ll come with me tonight to Betty’s. If she hears what happened from you, too, I think she’ll help me.’
I reach out, put one hand on Diane’s shoulder. I was never going to say no. Before I even got to the park, I knew that whatever Diane asked of me, I was going to say yes.
‘I’ll come with you,’ I say, and she opens her eyes.
‘Oh, Evie, thank you!’ she says, cracking a smile at last and leaning over and pulling me into a tight hug, just like she did last night. Juanita and Connie and Sunny and I don’t hug much. I’m not sure why. We just don’t. But Diane throws her arms around me like we’ve known each other for ages, not just a little over a week.
‘We’ll have to take the bus,’ Diane says, pulling back and carefully folding her letter to Betty in half again.
‘How do you know Betty will be there tonight?’ I ask. ‘It’s Saturday.’
‘Chief Howell is police chief for a reason,’ explains Diane. ‘He’s strict. She always had a ten o’clock curfew. If we get there after that, she’s sure to be home. We can throw pebbles at her bedroom window. I know which one it is.’
I nod. It all sounds absolutely bonkers, but I can’t see what other choice we have. Diane tells me that as soon as she’s able to deliver her letter to Betty, I can come back home and play dumb and she’ll get on the road, far away from River Oaks and the east side and Houston and maybe even Texas. She’ll get away from every rotten thing that’s happened to her in all those places these past few months, and in doing so, she’s sure she’ll help one of the few good things that’s happened to her – Johnny – see the light of day again.
‘Be at my aunt’s house tonight at eight o’clock, all right?’ Diane says, standing up and straightening and smoothing her skirt reflexively. I picture her staying prim and proper on a solo trip to Mexico, and while my first reaction is to smile at the thought, I’m immediately gripped with the realization that Diane is leaving. Leaving.
‘Diane,’ I say, ‘are you sure about all this?’
Diane nods. ‘It’s the only way, Evie. Don’t tell a soul, all right?’ Before I can argue, she reaches out, squeezes my hand, and says, ‘I’ll see you at eight.’ And then she heads off, still clutching the letter like a life preserver.
When I get home, Juanita is on her porch steps with her little niece Celia, sharing a box of Lemonheads.
‘Only one more,’ says Juanita, carefully handing Celia a tiny yellow ball. ‘Or Abuelita is going to let me have it when your teeth rot out.’
Celia laughs and snatches the candy, then races around back to play.
‘Hey,’ Juanita says, standing up and walking toward me, holding the box in my direction. ‘Want some?’
‘No thanks,’ I say. I remember Diane’s words. Don’t tell a soul. How desperately I want to tell Juanita. But I promised Diane.
Diane.
On the walk home from the park, all I’ve been able to think about is her wild plan. Her determination to take such a tremendous risk. And I’m struck again by how brave she is.
But I’m also imagining Diane driving Betty’s borrowed car down to Mexico all alone in the middle of the night, her hands gripped tight on the steering wheel, no one in the passenger seat to help her find her way.
I bite my bottom lip.
‘Why didn’t you say goodbye last night?’ Juanita asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. ‘Your mother came over here, looking for you.’
‘I know,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ she says, popping a Lemonhead into her mouth. ‘But she was upset and scared.’
‘Trust me, I know,’ I say, gripped with guilt. ‘But Diane needed to talk to me about something after the party.’
‘I figured,’ says Juanita. ‘Is she all right?’
I take a deep breath and stare at my feet, sure that Juanita can tell there’s something I’m not spilling. I want so much to tell Juanita what Diane said to me. I really have been her pet, it’s true, and it really did start that day I gathered up the courage to cross into her yard and ask for help with my makeup. Juanita would listen. She’s even tried to get me to open up. And lately I’ve been feeling less like a mascot, I guess, given everything that’s happening.
But I promised Diane I wouldn’t talk about tonight, and I want to keep my promises.
And anyway, Juanita might also try to talk me out of an idea that’s swimming inside my mind.
‘Do you hate me that I’m not telling you something I swore I wouldn’t tell?’ I ask, glancing at her as she tucks a lock of her black hair behind her ear and studies me.
‘You know, Evie,’ she says, ‘you’re as tough as Connie in a way.’
At this I laugh out loud. Me as tough as Connie? It’s not true, even if I admit there’s something about Juanita’s declaration that I like hearing. ‘Trust me, I’ll never be as tough as Connie Treadway.’
‘Maybe not in some ways,’ Juanita answers. ‘Not when it comes to throwing a punch or sassing back, but you hold your ground. You listen to your heart. You follow it.’
I remember what Sunny said about me that day behind the gym. That I had something special. I wish I could see what Sunny and Juanita see in me.
‘But you listen to your heart,’ I say, protesting. ‘You do.’
Juanita shrugs. ‘Yeah, maybe I do. I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it, Evie. But Sunny probably would have told me what Diane said. Connie, too. Hell, even I might have. But you keep your word when it counts. And you speak up when it counts. You helped Diane when the rest of us probably wouldn’t have. You’d never leave a friend in a fix. That’s all I’m saying.’